


Professor Stonewall and Doctor Overshare

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Blow Jobs, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, POV Abigail Hobbs, Professor Hannibal Lecter, Professor Will Graham, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Doctor Lecter regards her with a vague curiosity. He tilts his head. "Have you had any trouble navigating the grounds, or with your lodgings?" he asks. Abigail shakes her head. "Any issue with professors or fellow students?""No," she replies. Her brow creases. "Should I?"Doctor Lecter smiles, in a way that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Some faculty are less welcoming than others. Not everyone translates a desire to pass on knowledge with making friends while they do it." She laughs, thinking of Professor Graham.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 50
Kudos: 564





	Professor Stonewall and Doctor Overshare

**Author's Note:**

> this fic turned out in no way like what I'd planned. oh well lmao

"Oh my God, finally! I swear, this place is like a fucking maze."

The words are met with a quiet grimace of agreement, and several nods from the rest of the gathered freshmen, sprawled out on the lawn in front of what turns out is the building where the social sciences and humanities classes tend to take place. It's broad and squats like a bullfrog, surrounded by greenery.

Abigail hadn't expected to make friends quickly, at college. She hadn't expected to make it to college at all. But bubbly people like her dormmate, Hannah, aren't in short supply here, and extroverts like her tend to adopt people like Abigail and force them to make friends.

So now, here they are, in the second week of classes. Abigail likes it, and she likes that she's far away from anyone who knows who she is or where she comes from.

"Did you lose your map already?" Across the circle, another freshman, who Abigail knows as Tyler, a.k.a. that kid who always carries a guitar around but only knows how to play 'Wonderwall', snorts in Hannah's direction.

"Lost, forgot, whatever," Hannah replies, tossing her hair. Abigail rolls her eyes when it catches her face and Hannah grins apologetically at her.

"Here," she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out her own map, handing it over. "I've already memorized it."

"Oh my God, you _lifesaver_!" Hannah replies, and throws her arms around Abigail. She's upright before Abigail can respond, or convince her tense shoulders to loosen. Hannah unfolds the map and scans it. Abigail had put notes, marking down the fastest routes between her classes, and her observations about the various professors she had.

A single golden brow arches. "Who's 'Professor Stonewall'?"

"Marques?" Seth asks, leaning over to peer at the map over Hannah's shoulder. "She's all about the LGBT history, the Stonewall riots and -."

"No," Abigail says, shaking her head. "Professor Graham, the criminal psychology teacher. I call him that because he's completely uncrackable. Doesn't take questions, doesn't stick around to talk, doesn't react to anything in the room. Guy would probably send us videos of all his lectures if he could get away with it."

She can relate, honestly. Sometimes she wants to disappear. Professor Graham's desk is notably lacking in adornment, and for the life of her she can't find a single indication that he even has an office on the premises. There's no personality to his space, as if he could just disappear one day and no one would notice.

"Oh, God, Graham." Beside Tyler is the only senior in the group; Seth's older brother, Ben. He grimaces and shakes his head, pulling idly at the grass. "Yeah, he's a real hardass. Tough to impress. And _doesn't_ like talking. And definitely doesn't appreciate students trying to be his friend."

Abigail hums. "Well, that could just be professionalism," she suggests.

"Nah, he's like that with everyone," Ben says, and shakes his head again. "I think I've seen him crack a smile _once_ , with Doctor Bloom and Doctor Lecter, in public. That's about it."

"He doesn't like anything?" Abigail asks, frowning. "Surely someone's managed to get something out of him other than…." She makes a vague gesture. Professor Graham is a very straightforward kind of person. He emails out lists of the reading the Sunday before class, and you had better have read it by Thursday, or God help you. Not because he calls on people, but because he lectures on very specific things and it's easy to get lost if you have no idea what he's referencing.

He actually doesn't call on people at all. He'll sit and talk for forty-five minutes, fight out the query if there are any questions like it causes him physical pain, give short, clipped answers to the brave few who ask, and then remind his students of their assignments.

He's not _mean,_ per se, but he certainly doesn't discriminate or show any kind of favoritism either. He strikes Abigail as the kind of person who moves at a certain pace and doesn't particularly care if someone gets left behind, or runs on ahead of him. He'll get there when he damn well pleases, and doesn't want any distractions.

Ben gives her question some very serious thought, and then says; "He likes dogs."

"Dogs," she repeats.

"Yeah. Seen him with hair on him sometimes, and I've heard him mentioning to Doctor Bloom and Doctor Lecter when one of them's sick." Ben shrugs. "I assume he has some. That's all I know."

It seems ridiculous to Abigail that even a senior doesn't know enough about his professor to know if he has _dogs_. Professor Stonewall, indeed.

Scheduled into the third week of classes is a meeting with Doctor Lecter. He's the dean, or president – principal? Abigail isn't quite sure, but he's in charge, and he apparently likes to meet and speak to every student to make sure they're settling in and nothing is causing an issue. From what she's heard about him, he genuinely cares for all of them and wants to see them flourish while in his care, which is…not something she expected, truth be told, when she first arrived on campus.

Abigail is nervous, when she comes into his office and sits. Doctor Lecter is a tall, imposing man, with sharp features that can't be tempered by his gracious smile or polite manner. She tugs on the scarf around her neck and knows he notices, but he doesn't comment.

"Miss Hobbs," he begins.

"Please," she says, "Abigail is just fine."

"Very well," he replies, with another courteous nod of his head. He smiles at her, but she can't meet his eyes for long. She looks around his office; it's smaller than she anticipated it being, and smells vaguely like lemons from the cleaners, and the two side walls are covered by large, dark wooden shelves. There's a big window behind Doctor Lecter's chair, letting in natural light, and his desk is sturdy and wide, only enough room for a person to barely circle it. "How are you settling in?"

"Fine," Abigail replies. She searches for any kind of clue as to what Doctor Lecter is like. There are plaques on the walls, certificates listing his various degrees and accolades, but that doesn't tell her anything about _him_.

What does tell her something about him is his desk. There's his computer, angled away from her, and a little keyboard on a roll-out shelf beneath his desk. He has a little potted plant on the corner – a cactus, that looks in good shape. There's no water stain around it; he doesn't overwater it. Attentive. His pens are arranged in a series of perfectly straight lines all parallel. Obsessive, or compulsively neat. Though anyone who got a look at his impeccable suit and hairdo rigorously styled into place could guess that.

There are photo frames on his desk, too. Abigail can't quite see what they display, from the angle of the sunlight and where she's sitting, but they don't have a single mote of dust on them, and Abigail knows that's not entirely down to the cleaners.

Doctor Lecter regards her with a vague curiosity. He tilts his head. "Have you had any trouble navigating the grounds, or with your lodgings?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

"Any issue with professors or fellow students?"

"No," she replies. Her brow creases. "Should I?"

Doctor Lecter smiles, in a way that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Some faculty are less welcoming than others. Not everyone translates a desire to pass on knowledge with making friends while they do it."

She laughs, thinking of Professor Graham.

"I haven't had any issues," she replies honestly. She doesn't have an _issue_ with Professor Graham. She might know better than anyone what it's like to want people to stay out of one's business. "Thank you for asking."

Doctor Lecter dips his chin again. "I have a liberal open-door policy," he tells her. "Except for two in the afternoon, every day. That is a strict blackout hour." She nods. She has class at that time anyway, on the other side of campus. Doctor Lecter's eyes move from hers, releasing her from the feeling of being caught on a hook. His lips purse as he eyes his computer, and she wonders if he has a file for her pulled up. "You moved here from out of State?"

She winces. "Yes."

"It would be natural to feel homesick."

Oh, thinking of home definitely makes her sick, but not that way.

"I felt the same when I accepted my position here," Doctor Lecter adds. Abigail's gaze snaps to his face, and finds him smiling fondly down at the array of photographs on his desk. "I moved from Baltimore – not as far a distance as you, obviously – but the differences still caught up with me, for a while. And before that, as I'm sure you can glean, I lived outside of America."

"Where did you live before?" she asks, unable to resist the urge.

"Italy, for a time," he says, his eyes dark slightly unfocused, fixed on a memory. "Then France, and before that further East."

"You moved just for a job?" Abigail asks.

His smile widens, and he lefts out a soft sound, like a sheepish laugh. "No," he replies. "My husband lives here as well." Abigail blinks at him. He says it so casually, so fondly, so full of love. It makes her throat feel tight. Her eyes fall to his folded hands, to the understated but shining ring of gold on his finger. Of course he's married, and the gay part doesn't shock her either – not to stereotype, but she's not surprised in the slightest to learn Doctor Lecter has a husband and not a wife.

"…How long have you been married?" she asks, searching for something to say that will communicate that she's totally okay with having a gay head of staff, and to break the silence.

Doctor Lecter's head tilts. "I believe it's coming on three years, now," he replies idly, but Abigail gets the feeling that he knows exactly when they got married, down to the minute. She fights back a smile. "Regardless, as I said before; if you ever have need of someone to talk to, my door is open."

"Except for at two," Abigail says.

He smiles at her. "Except then," he confirms. "Doctor Bloom is also available, if you'd prefer to speak to a woman."

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter," Abigail replies. He eyes her for a moment longer, prompting the question that sits hesitantly at the back of her throat. She breathes in, and says, "May I ask why you have these meetings with us? Between my R.A. and everything, I mean -. I'm sure there's a better way to spend your time."

He smiles again, eyes bright with mirth. "I believe in the power of connection," he replies, as though this is just something normal people say. "And, while I agree with you, that between your professors and your room advisor, and your student liaison, I have access to information regarding possible issues, that doesn't come close to hearing it from the horse's mouth, as it were." Abigail hums, nodding. "Besides, as I mentioned, some professors here are less…friendly, than others."

She winces despite herself, and laughs sheepishly down at her hands.

Doctor Lecter gives her a knowing look. "Professor Graham is a hard man to please," he says idly, but with a smile. "I assure you, though, just like everyone else here, he does not want to see you fail. If you feel like you're having trouble, you can speak to me and I will speak to him."

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter," she says again.

"Of course, Miss Hobbs. Abigail. Have a pleasant rest of your day."

"Oh, Lecter, yeah, he's a pretty awesome guy," Hannah says with a bright smile, welcoming Abigail back from her meeting with Doctor Lecter. She's sprawled out on her tiny bed like a sunning cat, head hanging off and hair like a waterfall down to the floor. "I met with him yesterday."

"He seems nice," Abigail says, because she's not sure what else to say.

Hannah nods, and sighs. "And he's _dreamy_ ," she adds, and giggles.

"He's _married_ ," Abigail replies. "To a _man_. _And_ he's a teacher…dean…whatever."

"I'm allowed to _think_ things," Hannah pouts, and rolls over, propping her chin in both hands, kicking her heels up. "But yeah, I know. Gushes about the guy like he hung the moon." Her face goes a little starstruck. "One day I'll find love like that."

"I'm sure you will," Abigail says, sitting on her own bed. It's hard to deny how Doctor Lecter's voice had softened when he talked about his husband. His eyes had even gone a little misty. "Does he…visit, or anything?"

"I don't know," Hannah replies, shrugging. "But God, can you imagine what kind of man he'd marry? I bet he's all suave and gentlemanly just like him, maybe foreign. Oh, maybe they met in college or something! Fell in love and married and moved to America." She sighs dreamily.

Abigail rolls her eyes and lays down, staring at the ceiling. She thinks about the photographs on Doctor Lecter's desk. Surely the mysterious husband is in at least one of them. Probably all of them. It would be a simple matter to find out.

She remembers that he said he has a strict blackout period at two every afternoon. Maybe he has a lecture that she doesn't know about, as a freshman, or maybe he uses that for meetings, or wandering the halls. Either way, she can check and see if he's in his office during that time, and if he isn't, and he leaves the door unlocked….

She bites her lower lip, feeling guilty for even thinking about it. She doesn't want to invade his privacy, especially considering how nice he has been to her and how well-loved he seems to be by both faculty and students alike, but just a quick look at the pictures on his desk surely couldn't do any harm.

She nods to herself, decided. She'll just take a peek. In and out before he knows she was there.

Abigail creeps down the hallways at precisely five minutes to two. She doesn't like the idea of skipping her lecture, and even less that it might get back to Doctor Lecter somehow, and that he might ask her where she was. Abigail is good at lying, but she doesn't particularly _enjoy_ it, and she senses that he would see right through her.

She clutches the strap of her messenger bag and kneads at where it's catching on her scarf as she gets to the end of the hallway and peers down. Doctor Lecter's door is open and she can hear him rummaging around inside. She bites her lower lip and curses to herself. Well, if he's still here, she could just hurry to her class and apologize for being late, and try again another day…

She freezes as she hears footsteps approaching behind her. She whirls around, her eyes widening as she sees none other than Professor Graham walking down the hallway towards her. _Shit, shit, shit_. It's not his lecture she's skipping to go snoop on his boss, but given how stone-faced and unfriendly he is in class, he's probably not much more pleasant in the hallway either.

He slows when he sees her, eyes narrowing. "Miss Hobbs," he greets. Abigail swallows, trying to find her voice. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

 _Dogs, he likes dogs_. She can't for the life of her figure out why that thought suddenly springs into her head, but she's blurting it out before she can think about it;

"My cousin's dog is sick," she says. Professor Graham tilts his head, but he doesn't look like he's going to outright bite her head off anymore, so she counts that as progress. "You have dogs. I'm new to the area so I was wondering if you had any vet recommendations."

She has to admit, she's pretty proud of herself for coming up with that lie so quickly.

Professor Graham folds his arms across his chest, his eyes lifting to over her head for a moment. Is he staring at Doctor Lecter's door too? Is he trying to catch him before the blackout period happens? Does it apply to teachers – or maybe that's why he has it, so that he can have some time with the teachers and make sure everything is on the up and up, like he does with the students.

"How do you know I have dogs?" he finally asks her.

Abigail laughs nervously, and nods to the cling of dog hair on his shirt cuffs. "A few, I'd guess, from the variety."

He arches a brow, a small twitch of his mouth that's almost _pleased._ She doesn't think she's ever seen him smile. Even a hint of it changes his whole face. "I'll email you the contact information of the woman I use," he tells her, stepping to one side and around her. "If you'll excuse me."

"I -." Abigail watches, wide-eyed, as he strides down the hallway and, just at the minute her watch beeps for the two o'clock hour, he enters Doctor Lecter's office and closes the door behind him.

 _Interesting_.

Will sighs as he enters Hannibal's office, closing and locking the door behind him. Hannibal is in his chair, idly noting down something at his desk. He looks up and smiles when Will enters, lips pursing as he checks the time on his computer.

"Cutting it a little close, darling," he notes.

"I know," Will whispers, approaching him and circling his desk. He leans down, cupping Hannibal's face, and kisses him deeply. "Ran into a student in the hallway. She asked about the dogs."

Hannibal considers that, and breathes in. "Ah, Abigail," he says. Will long passed the point where he was weirded out by Hannibal's sensitive nose. Hannibal pushes his chair back and turns in it, so Will has room to prowl closer, their knees locking together as he leans down and pets the collar of Hannibal's shirt. "She seems like a bright girl. She's in your class, isn't she?"

"I'm not here to talk about the kids," Will snaps. Hannibal hums, tilting his head up as Will kisses him again, more hungrily, pawing impatiently at Hannibal's waistcoat so he can undo the buttons and part the halves.

"She shared many of your students' observations that you're not particularly friendly," Hannibal continues, knowing Will is far too selfish and impatient to let conversation stop him getting what he wants. He neither helps nor hinders Will from pulling his tie free and parting his waistcoat. Will pulls at the topmost buttons on his collared shirt, undoing them until he can get his mouth on Hannibal's neck, sucking at warm skin.

Hannibal shivers, unbidden, and tips his head back with a sigh as Will pushes his knees apart and, so slowly, sinks to his own between them.

"I don't give a fuck if they like me," Will says, looking up. Hannibal's eyes are dark, his hand gentle as it slides into Will's hair. Will nuzzles at Hannibal's thigh, breathing in raggedly. "I wouldn't even still be teaching if you didn't work here."

Hannibal hums again. "Your self-sacrificial nature is duly noted," he says.

Will gives him a wide, lopsided smile, dimples in his cheeks. His hands slide up Hannibal's thighs, stopping just short of where Hannibal wants him to touch most. "How do you want it today?" Will asks, voice a low growl, lashes fluttering in a slow blink as Hannibal tightens his grip, hips rising in not-so-subtle invitation. Will's grin turns knowing. "Want my mouth, baby?"

"I want more than that," Hannibal confesses. Such is Will's affect on him. His husband ruins him the second he enters the room. Hannibal wishes, often, that they could get away with more than an hour-long rendezvous during the day, but Will has classes, and Hannibal has other duties in need of constant attention.

Will parts his lips, drops his eyes. He sighs and slides his hands up, _finally_ reaching the button and zip of Hannibal's suit pants. "Just this, for now," he replies, and looks up only long enough to get Hannibal's not of agreement – petulant, but accepting. Will's lips twitch in another warm, fond smile, as he unfastens Hannibal's clothing, pushes his shirt up without a care for the wrinkles it will create – hence the waistcoat, which will hide them – and pulls Hannibal out through the hole in his underwear. "Been thinking about it all day."

His hand is warm, callused from gunfire when he was a policeman, and then worked for the FBI, before retiring to teaching permanently. Hannibal takes great pride in the part he played swaying Will to a life of lecture halls and hypotheticals. The field is no place for a mind as brilliant as Will's, it is put to much better use guiding the young.

Even if Will is less than friendly about it.

"Have you now?" Hannibal asks, breath hitching as Will licks, broad and wet, up the shaft of his cock, fingers forming a ring to stroke the wetness back down. Will merely hums, tilting his head, letting the leaking head of Hannibal's cock slide against the slight parting of his lips. It's a tease, warm breath and a hint of teeth that makes Hannibal's fingers clench in Will's hair.

Will nods, after another teasing lick. "Starting the seniors on the Ripper soon," he says, punctuating the words with a series of wide, warm kisses down the shaft of Hannibal's cock. "Had to do lecture prep. _Fuck_ , Hannibal, when will you kill for me again?"

"Name the man, and the sin," Hannibal says, and he means it. His hunting instinct will never be caged, but Will holds the leash. He chooses the victims, the why and where and how. Whatever great deeds Hannibal did in his past life to win the love and admiration of a man like Will, he might never know, but he thanks whatever forces of nature exist that meddle in the affairs of men that they found each other. That Will looks at his tableaux and feels _hunger._

Will's eyes meet his, dark and deep. There are monsters there just waiting to share in their mate's kill. Will rubs his lips up Hannibal's cock again, and when he reaches the head, he parts them and swallows Hannibal down to the root, with no warning and no hesitation.

Hannibal stifles his snarl, upper lip twitching back, head tilted up. His fingers tighten in Will's hair, not guiding, not forcing, letting Will set the pace for now. He can't keep his head up for long – Will on his knees is a sight to behold. He is both master and servant, supplicant and God. Will's hands slide under Hannibal's thighs, holding him still as he works the tight ring of his lips up and down in a slow, unhurried pace.

" _Will_." The rough growl earns a hum from Will, cheeks hollowing and flushing red. He closes his eyes, almost meditative, no rush in him at all. He's savoring this, happy to let Hannibal fill his mouth and flood his throat when it comes time, and not a second sooner.

Will sucks him hard, tongue running back and forth when he has room to move it. Hannibal fills him so wonderfully, the wet muscles of his throat clenching around the head when Hannibal is fully sheathed, the drag of his soft palette providing wonderful friction. Will gags occasionally, when he holds himself down, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes and filling the air with salt.

Hannibal can't help the ragged noise he lets out when Will does that, bowing over Will's head as he clutches his hair with both hands, helpless to resist the urge to crush Will deeper, to feel him tighten and spasm. Will moans for it, greedy thing, his nails digging into Hannibal's thighs. When Hannibal lets him up, he parts with a gasp, showing Hannibal his tears, his red cheeks, his bruised mouth.

Hannibal kisses him deeply, unable to resist. Will licks into his mouth, brazen and ready for it. He's always ready when Hannibal's kiss grows desperate.

"Fuck my mouth," Will commands, and Hannibal nods again, moaning softly as Will takes him deep. He clenches his hands in Will's hair and Will slides his grip down to Hannibal's knees, then the legs of his chair to keep it steady as Hannibal starts moving. Powerful thrusts clog Will's throat, making him whine and more reflexive tears fall over his flushed cheeks. He'll be a mess by the end of this, just how Hannibal loves him most.

A flash of movement catches his eye at the window behind his desk, and Hannibal looks to one side. He sees a single flare of dark hair, a telltale scarf, and hums to himself. It's unlike him to keep the blinds open when Will visits. He would do well to remember next time.

Still, Abigail is not lingering, not playing voyeur. He lets it slide, far more interested in the soft choking sounds Will makes, the way his shoulders roll up and tense, the scent of his arousal and tears and the slight battery-scent of his lungs and brain denied enough oxygen.

He finishes with a low snarl, guiding Will's head instead of moving his own hips, like Will is nothing more than a toy. Will swallows all of it, gagged, choking, but obedient and dedicated to a fault, keeping his lips sealed so no saliva or come leaks out to stain Hannibal's clothes. He pushes himself down one last time to make sure he gets it all, pulls back slow, tonguing at Hannibal's slit, before Hannibal releases him and Will rocks back on his heels.

" _Fuck_ ," he hisses, reaching down to squeeze his own trapped cock. He puts a hand on Hannibal's knee, stares up. "Are you wearing your plug?"

"No," Hannibal replies, and curses himself for his lack of foresight.

Will's eyes narrow, and he stands. "Fucking wear it, next time," he demands, and Hannibal nods. Will kisses him, hard, lips bruised and tender. "Get on your knees."

Hannibal smiles, and slides gracefully off his chair as Will undoes his slacks. He opens his mouth as Will cups the nape of his neck, holding him still, feeding Hannibal his cock once it's free, and eagerly returns the favor.

_Holy shit holy shit holy shit._

Professor Graham and Doctor Lecter! Professor Graham and Doctor Lecter _oh my God holy shit_.

Abigail rushes towards the quad, her cheeks flushed and heart racing in the aftermath of what she just saw. She's sure Doctor Lecter didn't see her, and Professor Graham certainly was in no position to, but she saw _plenty_.

She reaches the open area and plops down on a bench, her eyes wide. She tries to recall if Professor Graham has ever worn a wedding ring, if _he's_ Doctor Lecter's husband – but no, she can't. She frowns. Surely the man isn't having an affair with one of the faculty? He doesn't seem the type, especially with how obviously he loves his husband, but stranger things have happened.

She really hopes Doctor Lecter didn't see her. That is _not_ a conversation she wants to have. Ever.

She's missed too much of her lecture to bother trying to catch the second half, and knows even if she did that there's no way in Hell she'd be able to pay attention. She tries to push the sight of Professor Graham, on his knees, out of her mind.

Even if they _are_ married, they seem so…different. Doctor Lecter is open and friendly, genteel, cultured, _foreign_. And Professor Graham is…not. He's American, not quite local from the occasional drawl, but not European like Doctor Lecter either. He's abrasive and prickly. He doesn't seem to like people at all, least of all people who come across as refined as Doctor Lecter does.

 _Maybe opposites attract_.

Abigail rubs her hands over her face, and prays to whatever God might be listening that she wasn't seen.

Hannah is going to _flip_.

Abigail jumps as, at the end of the day when she's heading back to her dorm room, her phone chimes with a new email notification. She checks it and all the blood rushes from her face as she sees it's from Professor Graham.

_"Here's the vet info. Good luck with your cousin's dog."_

Short, to the point. Just like him. Her fingers tighten around her phone. God, how is she meant to keep going to his lectures, looking him in the Goddamn eye, after what she saw? Her face flushes and she tries to shake it off.

She's almost at her door when another email comes.

It's from Doctor Lecter.

_"Miss Hobbs,_

_Please come to my office tomorrow at 9AM._

_Regards,_

_Doctor Lecter."_

Okay, she is officially screwed.

Doctor Lecter looks exactly the same when Abigail comes into his office, her head down and shoulders hunched up. She's going to get expelled, or suspended or something. Fuck, why couldn't she just let her curiosity go? Why did she have to _look_?

Doctor Lecter smiles at her, and gestures for her to take a seat. She does. All she can think about is how, not even twenty-four hours ago, Professor Graham was in this room, on his knees. How he'll probably be here again at two. Fuck, that's probably why he has the blackout hour, so he can fuck a member of his staff without interruption.

Her cheeks heat again.

For a moment, he is silent, and then he sighs.

"I hope that you won't do either of us the disservice of denying what we both know is true." Abigail looks up, and then right back down at her feet again. Her fingers fidget in her lap.

"Sure."

"I'm not certain how much you saw, but I'm sure it was enough," Doctor Lecter continues. His voice remains gentle, his smile is faint but kind when she chances another glance up. "I will ensure the blinds are closed in the future, to avoid further awkward situations."

"Is Professor Graham your husband?" Abigail asks. She has to know, she _has_ to.

Doctor Lecter blinks, and then his smile widens. "Yes," he replies, his voice for a moment turning so utterly fond, she knows he's not lying. No man looks like that when thinking of another person without being one thousand percent in love with them. "I've found that setting aside a time for both of us to be alone helps greatly with the day-to-day stress of our professions. As you're well aware, Professor Graham is quite sensitive to other people."

She nods, unsure of what else to say.

"For the most part, our relationship is a secret, at least from the students and the staff," he continues. "It's neater that way, and prevents any rumors of favoritism, as well as distraction for the students when they should be learning instead of obsessing over the private lives of their teachers." He gives her a meaningful look, and Abigail laughs nervously.

"I get it," she says. "And I really didn't see much. Just enough, like you said. It won't happen again."

"I would consider it a personal favor if you kept this between us," Doctor Lecter says. "And don't mention it to Professor Graham. If only for the fact that I'll never hear the end of it."

Another bubble of nervous laughter bursts in Abigail's chest. She nods, meeting Doctor Lecter's gaze. "I swear. Lips officially zipped."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replies, and smiles. "That will be all, Miss Hobbs. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you while you are a student here."

Abigail nods, and stands, weak with relief that she isn't going to be tossed out on her ass for playing Peeping Tom. And that Doctor Lecter seems to find it funny. As long as Professor Graham doesn't pitch a fit about it, she's home free.

Thank fucking _God_.

Abigail goes back to her dorm, finding Hannah sprawled out on her bed. She looks up, her eyes wide. "What did Doctor Lecter want?" she asks.

Abigail swallows. "Just to follow up about one of my grades," she lies. It comes smoothly to her, and while she doesn't enjoy lying, she doesn't feel bad about it this time. She completely gets it, from both sides – it's none of her business. She drops her bag on the bed.

"Did you get a look at any of his husband pics?" Hannah presses.

Abigail hesitates, and then says, "Yes." Hannah squeals in delight, her eyes widening further. She makes an impatient gesture and Abigail clears her throat. "He's no one we know here. You were right – he's some foreign guy, looks European like Doctor Lecter." She shrugs. "Name's Marcus or something."

Hannah stares at her, and then she rolls onto her back, laughing wildly, and pumps her fist in the air.

"I fucking _knew_ it!"

Abigail smiles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Professor Stonewall and Doctor Overshare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243943) by [metencephalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metencephalon/pseuds/metencephalon)




End file.
